All You Need Is Love (21 page)

“I’m not a can of corn…” I say and hate the analogy I picked but I was desperate. “This is ridiculous, Dad. My life is the regular fac-brat on campus housing…”

“Cordelia is a faculty brat and look what happened to her…”

“I’m not going to end up in rehab, Dad,” I say and put my hands on my hips both for its argumentative stance and for balance. “What could I possibly gain from sharing bathrooms, having to go to bed at ten o’clock, and…”

“Rules. A set of rules that govern you that are not flexible.” Dad puts his hand on my shoulder to be nice but I flick it off, which pisses him off. “You live your life coming and going as you please, which is fine — you can do that in college and I can’t stop you. And I don’t want to stop you — I want you to think about what you’re doing.”

“I can’t believe you’re accusing me of not thinking — I am an over-thinker! Mable just said to me that I needed to stop thinking so much — which is it? What the hell am I supposed to do?” I start crying and wipe the tears away as fast as they come because I don’t want to cry. I want to get him to change his mind.

Dad makes me sit down on the leather couch so we can attempt civility. “Boarding has many benefits — there’s a communal lifestyle that brings a sense of…”

“Dad — do NOT try to spew the tour guide talk on me. I go here already. You can’t sell it to me.”

Dad gets up and walks back to his desk, shuffling papers and looking weary. “My mind is made up on this, Love. Here.” He hands me his signed confirmation of place, the document that starts the new student dorm assignment process. “We don’t know which dorm you’ll be in…”

“Not Fruckner.” I say and then feel like I’ve given in too easy. “I’d like to go on the record of saying you’re making a big mistake. You want to be close to me, but here you’re pushing me away. It doesn’t make any sense. Unless you’d like to get rid of me and have the house all to yourself — or for you and Louisa but I already told you it’s fine.”

“First of all, I’m not ready to live with Louisa. We haven’t discussed that yet. And in terms of being close with you, it’s the most important thing in the world to me — and I’d do anything to make our relationship stronger. Which is why I’m making the very difficult decision to have you board —”

“What, absence makes the heart grow fonder?” I ask. “I have news for you — that’s not true.” Look at me and Asher, look at my own parents.

“I’m hoping we both find that a little extra space — and a few more companions for you — strengthens our bond. We’re so close sometimes that I think we have the ability to shut out the world, and that’s not very healthy. This will be a real preparatory year…”

“So that when I go to college I’ll be all used to sharing toilets and waiting my turn for the shower?”

“More than that, Love,” Dad says. “You’ll see. You’ll like living on your own before college.”

“I already DID live on my own — that’s what got me into trouble in the first place.” My face probably looks stony. I keep my mouth in a straight line, like one of those not-happy not-sad pictures and shake my head.

“Well, I’m sorry to hear that you disagree, but that’s the way it is. Now — look. September is three months away. I’m still letting you go to the Vineyard like you planned because I promised Mable.”

I sigh. Maybe I won’t stick around for graduation. What’s the point? I’ll be jailed next fall with all of these people why suffer more now? “Great.” I say though it hardly sounds enthusiastic. Then it dawns on me. ‘Were you so suffocating recently because you knew you were kicking me out?”

“I’m hardly kicking you out,” Dad protests.

“That’s what it feels like,” I say.

“You’re a very wise, psychologically aware person, Love. I’m sure that factored into my actions — and if I was suffocating you, I apologize. I don’t mean to crowd you.”

“You’re either all over me or too far,” I say.

“That’s the kind of balance I’m hoping next year will bring.”

We end the conversation by locking his office door, and my silent payers that I won’t be assigned to Linday’s dorm. Dad’s footsteps and my flip-flops echo in the empty hallway. I stop in my tracks. “Dad,” I say and grab his arm so he stops and turns to me. “When did you decide this?”

Dad frowns, trying to recall. “I don’t know exactly.”

“Well, you mentioned it was “brought to your attention” that I was in this non-boarding non-day world — which was hardly hidden. So who showed you the light?”

Dad scratches his face and rubs his spring allergy eyes. “It’s funny, actually. Right around the time of the Avon Walk —”

“I knew it. You said thank you to Lindsay for the big donation — which came, just so you know, only because her mother MADE her give it, not because she’s so charitable. And to get back at me —”

Dad shakes his head, “What could Lindsay have to get back at you for?”

“There’s a lot you don’t understand about the inner working of my social life here, Dad. But to simplify: Chris called Mrs. Parrish and got her to make Lindsay give money. Linday threatened me with some revenge but I didn’t think she’d stoop to going to you…”

We keep walking down the hall over to the flight of stairs and out onto the quad. “Well, it might have been said as revenge, but I think Lindsay’s quite astute.”

“She puts the ass back in astute.”

“Love — enough. She made a good point and I’ve listened.”

I let my dad keep walking and I stop by the Stipper Pole to regain my composure. “I reiterate. Do NOT assign me to Fruckner House with her.”

“It’s out of my control, “Dad says. “You know I don’t handle the dorm assignments.” He smiles at me thinking it’s all okay now. “I’ll see you at home?”

“Not home,” I say pointedly. “Your house. As of today, I don’t have a home.”

“You’re so dramatic!” Dad says like he’s proud of it.

But I’m not being dramatic. I’m being realistic. I don’t get to live at his house, I don’t yet have a dorm, and I have a sublet for the summer. I am a woman with no fixed address. Free in a good way or just cut loose?

I am over it. I am over the fact that my fall has great potential to suck and slime me with severe college cramps, the rules and regulations of boarding life, and the intense toll on my psyche all of that will take.

But rather than dwell on the enormity of that, I am instead focusing on the summer ahead of me. Graduation is tomorrow, my last college planning sesh is in two hours and aside from my familial woes the last item plaguing me is my project for Poppy Massa-Tonclair who phoned yesterday to “make sure I was taking time as part of the creative process, not because I couldn’t think of what to do”. Um, sure. I told her I had an idea and was working on it (had an idea=waited for the artistic muse to land in front of me).

As a result of my new-found (possibly temporary) close-to-summer sensation of happiness, I am blaring the song of the moment, Black Coffee in Bed by Squeeze and singing at the top of my range when two things happen at once:

Arabella calls and squeals with laughter into the phone and Jacob knocks on the door, witnessing my vocalizing and my packing (read: aimlessly shoving various articles of clothing and linens into big duffel bags then taking some out and shoving it in again).

“Hey,” I say in to the phone and motion for Jacob to come in. “Find a seat if you can,” I say to him.

“Oh, do you have a boy in your bedroom?” Arabella stresses the bed part of bedroom and I quickly turn down the volume of my cell phone so Jacob can’t hear what Arabella is saying. “Oh, is it Jacob?”

Good call on the volume thing. “Uh-huh,” I say trying to make it sound like I’m talking about socks or something equally banal. “That’s correct.”

“Is he
in your bedroom
in your bedroom or just in your bedroom?”

“You sound insane. Or just repetitive,” I respond and try to switch gears (oh, driving analogy — images of me on the open road). “What’s happening at the café?”

I watch Jacob settle in on the floor near my bed. He could’ve sat on the bed itself — arguably it’s the least cluttered spot in the room (both figuratively and literally) but maybe he feels that the implications of that seatage are too much, so the platonic floor is where he rests, nestled in among my shorts, tee-shirts and — oh, my sexy bra. While shopping in London, Monti — Arabella’s mother — insisted she purchase me a fancy bra and underwear set. It’s less fancy than it is slutty, but the price tag begs to differ. The price tags that are still on the lingerie because I never had a chance to wear them.

“The usual — Doug and Ula disagree about everything down to what size napkins are the best, but Ula’s heading back to Slave to the Grind because apparently she’s got some clause in her contract that says she has to oversee that place.”

“Yeah, Mable mentioned something about that. But what about you? Are you having fun yet or is it all business and no play?” I try to think of a way to hide my slut-bra from Jacob who is observant and close enough to the item to see it now. Maybe if we were closer friends or maybe if we had no past I would just let him find it and ogle it, but it’s too hard to explain — that I’m not the kind of person who wears fancy bras with matching lacey revealing underwear, but I’m not opposed to it, either. That the items are just in my room, they’re not really mine in the sense of emotional owndership.

Arabella laughs. “Can you hear that? Those were waves.”

“You’re at the beach?” I ask and check my watch. “Aren’t you supposed to be working?”

“Yes, madam, but Doug told me he’d cover for me so I could explore the island.”

“Did you rent a bike? I’m bringing mine and Mable’s old one for you,” I say. How many things do I have connected to her? How many memories attached to every day objects?

“Actually, I got a ride!” Arabella laughs and I respond by picking up a pile of unfolded tee-shirts and drop almost on top of Jacob’s head, creating a bit of a ruckus, but also covering the bra.

Jacob looks up at me from his position on the floor with a curious expression on his face. “Is this a subtle hint that you’d like me to fold you clothing?”

I shake my head and say, “No — sorry. Um, I’ll be off in one minute.” I wish he weren’t so damn cute — no, not cute. Gorgeous. He used to be cute, and then his whole physical presence changed. He looks similar to my last-year’s memories of him, but better, older, bigger, hotter than I remember from last year.

“Hey, Love!” A male voice gets on the line.

“Hello?”

“It’s Henry,” he says. “Hope you don’t mind that I borrowed your friend.”

A rustling puts Arabella back on, “Henry was kind enough to show me around.”

“Giving you a private, guided tour?” I ask, trying to remain neutral but not entirely succeeding.

Arabella lowers her voice, “Are you upset?” She lowers her voice to a small whisper. “It’s not like anything’s happening. In fact, I think someone’s got a thing for you.”

Without thinking of my guest I ask, “Who has a thing for me?”

Arabella’s tone shifts and she speaks in her over-enunciated voice to let me know she’s being listened to, “So, yes, everything is just fine. I’m heading back to the café shortly. We can talk about this more later.”

“Okay,” I say and then, “I’ll call you later today or tomorrow.” I don’t add that I want to check up on her, because that would be annoying even if it’s truthful, but the thought of being the worker bee in the café this summer while she’s off getting tan (or laid) in the dunes doesn’t exactly thrill me. Or maybe I’m jealous — of her with Henry? I make a face at myself in the mirror and hang up the phone wondering what the summer has in store.

“So, trouble in paradise?” Jacob asks.

“That was Arabella. She’s already on the Vineyard and…” I look at him. “And you couldn’t possibly be interested in the details so I’ll spare you.”

“I am, though,” Jacob says and runs his fingers through his hair. Lucky fingers. Enough — I have to think of him as my buddy. My pal. My friend. He grins. “Tell me the details of your life.”

I sit next to him, aware that somewhere under me is my slut-bra. “The details. Huh. Well, I go the great news that I’ll be one of your kind this fall…”

“A male?” Jacob narrows his eyes.

“A boarder.”

“To what do we owe this honor?” He taps some rhythm on his knees and I feel tempted to ask what song he’s fake-percussioning.

“That honor is courtesy of my father who feels the dorm life will do wonders for my psyche.” I go over to my desk and get the mix I completed for Jacob, the one I’ve almost handed over a bunch of times but haven’t. “Here. I owed you one, so consider this my debt paid.”

Jacob studies the case. “No liner notes?”

“No. And it’s not just because I forgot. It’s so that you don’t ruin the surprise and see the songs before you hear them.”

Jacob smiles at me in his quiet way and laughs. “That’s so you.”

“In a bad way?” I ask and sit next to him.

“No — in a quirky nice way.”

See, how can we have exchanges like this and be just friends? Or rather, how can we have exchanges like this with me lusting after him and wanting to lean forward and kiss him and still have the label platonic hanging over us? I can’t quite get there. But then, it’s what he wants, there’s been no overture of romance on his part. In fact, there’s a rumor swirling about Jacob having spent a night in Deals last week with an unknown senior girl. Someone apparently saw him climbing down the fire escape at dawn, but then it might not have been Jacob.

“Are you excited for summer?” I ask and sound very yearbooky.

“Excited might be overstating it a little, but I’m ready to be out of here if that’s what you mean.”

“No, I meant more than that — at this point we’re all ready to be free of the hallowed halls of Hadley — and alliteration — but I haven’t heard you talk about your summer plans that much.” I say this like we’ve been spending every minute together and he’s yet to express his delight but maybe he’s so cool and mellow he just doesn’t get worked up about plans.

Jacob turns away and looks out my window. “The thing is I’m not completely clear on my plans at this moment.”

“Care to elaborate?”